On Her Behalf
by AnakinPadmeSkywalker
Summary: After the death of Senator Padme Amidala, her security head, Gregar Typho, is discharged by the Empire. He and his uncle, Panaka, former head of security for Amidala, launch a private investigation into her death to seek answers for their own resolution.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Gregar Typho looked out the window at the skyline of Coruscant, tinged in shades of gray, blue, and purple. It could have been his imagination, but ever since the fall of the Republic, and the rise of the Empire, everything in life looked darker. Maybe he was seeing it through dusk colored glasses.

He loved her; not in a romantic sense--duty had long since taken over his personal life, what he might have had of one, when he was commissioned in the Nubian Guard. He loved the honor, the loyalty, the _code_, and she was a radiant symbol of that. Senator Padme Amidala, the voice of democracy, the woman he'd been assigned to protect, recently died and was laid to rest by the citizens of Naboo.

It was like her death had coincided perfectly with the death of democracy, a fact he pondered often now.

He missed his post in life.

It didn't take someone who played politics to understand the none too subtle choice he'd been given by the Empire after they had attended to her personal belongings and the ceremony that laid Amidala to rest. Work for the Empire, resign, or be dishonorably discharged from service.

A dishonorable discharge would ruin not just a career, but a life. It was a mark, well known, that would follow someone across the galaxy and preclude every opportunity they ever came across. Now it felt a dishonorable discharge, issued by the Empire, was a hollow threat indeed--how could they assign dishonor to someone when they had none themselves?

He refused to work for the Empire, so to avoid any confrontation, resigned from a life in security. With Senator Amidala's death, and her burial, Typho thought he could pay his final respects, gain resolution, and move on to his next assignment. He never found the closure he was looking for.

His uncle, Panaka, had taken Amidala's death and the rise of the Galactic Empire worse than he had, it seemed. Unaccepting of the changes, Captain Panaka was on the fast track to disciplinary action or worse before Typho stepped in and warned him his life could be in danger if he pressed matters. He was involuntarily medically discharged--not dishonorable, but not honorable--for reasons classified as no more specific than failure to adapt.

It was the only assistance Typho could give him.

Now, civilian, Panaka turned to drinking more and more frequently and his life was unraveling. He and Typho had grown apart because of it.

Typho was not without his own problems. Guilt weighed heavily on his conscience with the death of Amidala, and he wanted answers about the circumstances surrounding her demise. Why was she so upset the night she died? Where was she going? Why didn't she take his advice?

There are moments in a person's life while, seemingly insignificant at the time, imprint to memory and replay themselves over and over again. Typho could picture it, vivid as if it happened yesterday--Senator Amidala clad in a brown battle dress gear, striding determinately out of her Republica apartment to her Nubian cruiser. She was nine months pregnant, borderline distraught, and would not tell him where she was going.

In his mind Typho followed her again out to the landing pad, trying to change the strong-willed woman's mind before she made what he knew was a very bad call.

_I strongly recommend you don't do this_, he'd insisted, repeating his concerns about her safety, concerns she wouldn't hear.

_I'll be fine; I have 3PO to protect me_, she added, throwing him a light reassurance that did nothing to assure him. The droid was for assistance; not protection.

_Please reconsider_, he stated, as firmly as possible without being insubordinate.

_I'm going by myself_, she said, casting a last glance over her shoulder. _It's personal_.

He could only watch as she boarded the Nubian cruiser, destination unknown to him, a sinking feeling in his stomach. Days later he walked in her funeral procession.

And he blamed himself.

People, well-intentioned, sometimes asked him why he sought answers, why he asked questions at all, when doing so under the oppressive politics and watchful eye of the Empire placed his life in danger.

Typho looked out the window again, watching the sun set on a Coruscant without hope, before softly answering to himself.

"It's personal."


	2. Chapter 1

Nate Panaka strode through the dark streets of his hometown of Keren, vaguely observant of the activity around him. People came and went, the occasional catcall or whistle could be heard in the distance, in what was once his favorite quarter to relax off duty. Not exactly representative of pacifist Theed, or even Naboo for that matter, but somewhere he felt comfortable.

He felt competent to care for himself in any situation, not just because of his training but because he of ingrained behavior he'd held fast to all of his life. He could handle himself in situations like these; he wasn't afraid. 

Nate rounded the corner, stepping out of the way of an impending brawl without a second thought before entering the corner Pub. The volume of the activity met his ears all at once when he opened the door, and he made his way to one of two empty barstools ahead. Beings leaned over the edge, laughing, talking, leaning over as they reveled in their excitement. He'd caught the eye of one female twi'lek; not exactly his type, but not bad either.

He felt a pang of remorse tear at him and motioned towards the bartender. A double shot as always. At least until they cut him off. He smiled, taking his first drink before feeling the pungent, burning fluid make its way down his throat and warm him pleasantly.

_Time to feel nothing._

Slowly, he cocked his head and looked over to one of the game tables where a crowd had gathered. They were starting another round of Sarlaac, one of his favorite vices. Minutes later he played with them, ignoring the exasperated glances of those around him. He'd won credits, he'd been on quite a roll at first, but the more confidence he gained the more he drank. The more he drank, the more impaired his judgment became. His money dwindled, and his attitude took an even sharper nosedive.

It was a familiar dance, particularly to those who frequented the tables with him. Finally the order came from the bartender to cease his supply. They knew that as is, they would face a belligerent customer, but had learned their lesson from last time. At least he wouldn't have to be turned over to the Nubian Guard or carried home this time.

After Nate had been led out of the Pub and had nothing but the vague destination of home to guide him, he began to stumble his way there. _Home_, he thought smugly. Sometimes he wondered if he cared whether he made it there safely or not. In a sense, this attitude served him well, for the underworld of any planet could smell fear, and thrive on it. The others, they tended to ignore.

He mumbled obscenities to himself as he tripped, his words slurred and incoherent, before something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. It wasn't necessarily that it was a dark alley, or that two figures were negotiating a deal. It was the bearing, straight and solid, exuded by one of the silhouettes. He knew, even in a drunken stupor, the likely identity. He'd known him all his life.

Gregar. 

As he made his way to his nephew, the other figure turned sharply, as if alerted to his presence, and headed in the other direction. If he hadn't been drunk, if he hadn't been unemployed, he would have likely followed and gotten down to the bottom of the matter. His nephew stood, facing in his direction and staring at him in the darkness said nothing.

Gregar would have likely stared at him that way for a long while; little could rattle him, but Nate broke the silence.

"Who the hell was that?" he asked.

Gregar sighed, and was silent a moment. "No one." 

"Brankspit!" he cursed. He was drunk, and emboldened, and didn't need this evasive behavior, least of all from the nephew to whom he'd imparted such skills.

"Who?" Nate demanded. His curiosity was high, patience even shorter. He stumbled, and caught himself before falling down, standing again and regaining his bearings.

Gregar regarded his uncle. People had different ways of dealing with grief, loss, and disappointment. Somehow he had thought that when push came to shove, his uncle could pull through and lead with the best of them. Seeing him fall off his pedestal not only sickened Typho, it demoralized him.

"I used to look up to you," Gregar began, speaking more to himself than his uncle. He shook his head. "Now look…"

An uncharacteristic temper flared in Panaka, and he took a swing towards his nephew, who quickly and competently stepped out of the way, distancing himself but still just watching his uncle. An air of confusion hung between them, for just a moment. They used to spar when he was younger, but now the attack was ineffective, yet genuine in its effort.

Nate pointed his finger at Gregar. "You--you owe ev-every opportunity you'v-ve ever had to me. I trained you, rec-mended you to the Guard. Sthow some restpectt" his words were slurred. "I can sthill hurt yyou"

Gregar stepped toward him. "You couldn't beat your way out of a wet paper bag." His voice was low, gravelly, and he grabbed a fistful of his uncle's shirt, hoisting him to his feet. "Now get up."

Nate started to push, to resist him, illogically, and Gregar used a more militant voice. "_Now_" he boomed, and Nate was sobered, at least enough to be led back home. 

-------------------------------------------------------------

Gregar sat in his uncle's apartment, regarding the dirty linens and utensils strewn everywhere, in contrast to his own. Nate was in the bathroom, per his orders, cleaning up. That was a good thing, at least, Gregar thought. He hadn't looked out for him for sometime; he didn't have the inclination to nurse him back to health and sanity, if such a thing was possible. But at least they'd met in the right place in the right time and he'd made it home tonight. Gregar knew he could handle it from here. The heaving, the sleep--those would all come later. He rubbed his forehead tiredly.

When he looked up, Nate stood in the doorway. His eyes were red but not glazed, and Gregar could see that he was washed and more coherent. _At least we can hold a conversation now._

His uncle sat down on the couch across from him, and was silent a moment. "Caff?" he offered. 

Gregar considered for a second before shaking his head. "Just had some. Have to go home, rest; soon actually." He looked towards the door.

"I'm still curious as to what you were up to with that being in the alley."

Gregar looked back at him, some amusement crossing his features. He'd half expected him to forget in his drunken stupor. For the last several months, he'd made a habit of missing all of his other mandatory appointments. But this one incident clung to his memory, and it almost made Gregar smile; his investigator instincts were still there.

"An acquaintance," Gregar said, with some reservations. What he was doing, what information he was receiving, was really no one else's affair but his own, he'd decided. His uncle had never factored into the equation.

"Don't start," His uncle snapped, angering again. "You know, you've been distant for the last few months, not just from me but from everyone."

Gregar nodded. He had to give him that. Little made him feel alive anymore… let alone a sense of purpose. So he distanced himself. It was, he thought, glancing back to his uncle, better than drowning his sorrows.

"Yes," he admitted, looking at Nate. 

"Are you in some kind of trouble? Do you need some help?" Now he started to sound more like the uncle he remembered-competent, caring, and honorable. The thought grazed by Typho's mind for just a moment before he pushed it away. What did he need to know about the informant, anyway? The more people became involved, the more confusing the matter became. The more were placed in danger.

"I miss her, too" Panaka said, reading Typho's feelings and drawing a sharp breath from his nephew. That he could still feel pain was not in doubt. "I know we're different, you and I, but don't think for one moment that if I could turn back time, prevent things, even at the expense of my life, that I wouldn't do it." The sincerity shone in his eyes now, the light, and memory of his uncle ever being drunk that night seemed to recede. 

Typho wrung his large hands slightly and bowed his head, taking a breath. These were his mannerisms when the time came to consider a different path, to falter, and falter was a thing he rarely did. He was a focused and decisive man.

Different options toyed with his thoughts. Could his uncle help him? Would he really want to, with the underground means and subterfudge he was using?

_But then, it doesn't really matter, does it, when you've both been discharged from law-abiding jobs, when the institution itself has been turned upside down, and you have no future._

Typho's thoughts ruminated in his mind, and he looked up, facing his uncle. Perhaps Nate cared about the cause and sought answers as much as he did, just in different ways. This could be a reason for him to move forward, to clean himself up. Typho prided himself on self-reliance and realized, finally, that he not only wanted his uncle's help, but that sharing his grief, and sharing a purpose, would lessen his burden.

He slowly brought his eyes to meet Nate, before lowering his defenses and deciding to speak.


	3. Chapter 2

Panaka leaned back into his seat, digesting the information. "A source?" he reiterated, looking at Gregar.

"Yes."

"Encrypted files...property of the Empire?" He let a whistle escape his lips. "You obtained this just before they deleted the rest. It's a dangerous game you're playing". Nate's eyes darkened and met his nephew's, but he knew this was something he didn't need to tell him.

"Understood." Gregar stared at his uncle. "Are you in, or are you out? I'm not going any further without your commitment. Your word."

Nate nodded, then lowered his head. He could easily walk away at this point, put everything behind him--Amidala, his fallen career, dealings with the Empire--but felt irreversibly pulled forward. Nate wanted to do this. No. He _needed _to do this. It suddenly seemed worth every risk it entailed.

He looked again at Gregar, solemnly. "Tell me. Everything."

A half hour later uncle and nephew sat, together in silence, an unspoken agreement between them. During that short period of time Nate had learned information--relevelations really--that altered his perception on so many things.

The planet Mustafar...now it was known to them it was likely the location of a Separatist gathering. Three ships had crossed that atmosphere that night, had been detected by sensors, before systems were powered down, locked and became property of the Empire. Three ships had arrived. Only two had left.

Three ships...a starfighter...perhaps a Jedi had business there that night? An executive shuttle, Empirial property, had come much later. But that wasn't the most startling discovery.

A Nubian ship had entered, safely landed, and upon cross referencing Gregar saw that it almost certainly contained two life forms.

"That's not remarkable," Nate had commented, looking at Gregar as though he'd missed something obvious. "The Senator was expecting..."

"It doesn't detect unborn life, Nate. Her pregnancy wouldn't be noted one way or the other. It shows that there were two live, separate beings on the craft that night, but when she left Coruscant, it was only her and the droids. Something's not adding up."

"I see..." Nate was thoughtful. "What did the craft systems list as destination?"

"Amidala overrode the destination so it couldn't be traced. She was apparently quite adamant about making this trip herself. Remember, she was rash, not stupid." Gregar said, smiling sadly as he remembered how stubborn and willful the Senator could be. She'd given him headaches, so much heartburn during his tenure as her head of security. He'd once thought amusedly that retirement or reassignment would be one of the best things to ever come his way. Now he'd do anything to have that heartburn back.

"Is there any way to determine, just based on the beginning trajectory, the destination?"

"No. The further away a craft gets, the more of a "shot in the dark", so to speak, a destination would be. But assuming that it continued, non-stop, on a straight course, it does lead to the Mustafar system."

"Ok, so the facts are these--she made her destination and course unreadable, but it was headed to the vicinity of Mustafar based on our best guess. According to Mustafar recordings, it was the recipient of a Nubian craft, a starfighter and an...Empirial shuttle?"

"Correct."

"You've also determined it was a Separatist base?"

"That's what the records indicate, yes."

Nate took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. "Why would Amidala be going to meet with the Separatists herself? Amidala did a lot of dangerous missions, but even this is well outside her scope, not to mention her personal judgement. She would know better than to head there alone, without even a trace of her course in the event of trouble..."

"And nine months pregnant," Gregar whispered. Padme had seemed so happy, particularly during the final months, of her pregnancy. There was no hiding it, not from him, not from her handmaidens nor anyone else close to her. She would have made a wonderful parent.

Amidala had always opposed the war, particularly the Separatists that had on several occassions tried to assassinate her and on one held her captive on none other than Naboo. Would she have the gall to meet with them in person, alone, entrusting her life in their hands? Her child's life in their hands? Typho found this hard to believe for many reasons, but he couldn't rule it out. Was she in league with them? Had she wanted the Republic to not fight because she wanted them beaten into surrender? Or perhaps she went to meet with them to propose a treaty?

He gritted his teeth, parts of him at odds. His investigative side told him to keep all options open--an investigation wasn't a thorough one without all venues considered, systematically, without being ruled out. A more personal side of him, an intuition, rose to the forefront, raging that Amidala was a good and honorable woman--the most honorable he'd ever known--and he could not even consider she could do such a thing. His protectiveness, his older brother instincts, reared their head.

Panaka seemed to be reading his thoughts. "I don't think she had anything to do with them, either, but we have to look into it, if only to rule it out." His eyes were soft now; his voice, compassionate. "She could have been set up, even."

Gregar considered. His thoughts drifted to the second life form that had been detected aboard her ship. He'd personally unlocked the ship and prepped it for her that day, that damnable day. He'd also performed a standard, but thorough, inspection of all areas before her flight, including a detection of all lifeforms onboard from the cockpit. The result had come back correct, and expected-only one at that time, himself.

He recalled again as he walked with the Senator to her ship with the droid C-3PO, willing his mind to slow, to pause, to reply and focus any detail he might have missed. He bit his lip, frustrated, when he couldn't find any new details, before a thought dawned on him. Perhaps a loophole lay in what he _hadn't_ seen..

Gregar had turned his back less than a minute before the ramp closed, could even hear it closing behind him, but that minute now seemed infinitely large in his mind. Wasn't it impossible for someone to have been hiding on that platform? It was wide open and the lower extremities of the ship didn't give much hiding room. Could someone have been that quick as to jump on board just as he turned his back? It couldn't have been more than a second before the ramp as closed after he took his eyes off it.

_God, this was going to drive him crazy, these possibilities. How to ever know?_

"Gregar...we have all the information we're going to have on Amidala's travel, her professional activities. There's only one place left to look to find more details."

Typho met his stare, and without words understood where they had to go, and what they had to do.

In all of the galaxy lay answers, but the next piece of their investigation was no further than outside their door. They would have to contact those who were even closer, even more loyal, to the Senator than they were.

Her handmaidens.


	4. Chapter 3

The cold of the seasonal air filled her senses as she knelt before the ground. She was attired in her winter dress, overcoat, and gloves, even as she pressed down on the soil to implant the rare winter flora. It didn't bother Dorme much to be out in such weather; rather, she enjoyed it. The greenery took on almost a crystalline tinge, the sky a slightly different color. It could have been her imagination but she even felt the oxygen was richer.

She needed something to busy herself. A twinge started to take hold of her before she shook her head and brushed it off, moving to the next plant.

Stay busy.

So busy was Dorme in what she was doing that she didn't even hear the crunch of synchronized footsteps until they were meters away.

She glanced up, embarrassed, and rose to her feet. Her gloved hand touched her cheek, before a smile slowly tugged at her lips.

"Gregar..." she began, opening her arms. He held her briefly in a friendly embrace before pulling away at arms length.

"It is good to see you, Dorme. You're looking well. You remember my uncle, Nate" he gestured to his right and she nodded.

"Of course, yes. I believe my duty was beginning as his was ending, but yes. How are you both?"

Gregar rested his hands on his hips and looked around curiously. "Good. You're not cold out here?"

"It is a little, but...how thoughtless of me, having us stand out here. Come in, please" She gestured toward her cottage and they followed. "Don't try to say no, either; I'm putting on some caff for the both of you."

They made their way up the trail and inside her dwelling. Nate sat down and Gregar stood in the immaculate living room, noting the pictures on the mantle, most of which contained Amidala in them. All pertained to Dorme's tenure working under her, and Gregar wondered if she'd had much of a life outside of it. Minutes later she returned with the drinks and they both nodded, thanking her.

"It was nothing." Dorme noted demurely, taking a seat and looking around. "You're doing me the favor, actually. I haven't had company for some time. My family was out to visit a few standard weeks ago and I've busied myself around the house and yard, but other than that...not too much." She sounded wistful.

"How is Sabe?" Nate asked casually, and he thought her smile waned just a little.

She took a small breath. "Fine, I suppose. I haven't spoken with her for almost half a standard year. We lost touch after..." she glanced down at her lap, and after a moment of tense silence cleared her throat and took a sip.

Gregar glanced at his uncle, then back at Dorme. He'd always liked her, they'd always worked well together on their Senatorial detail. He thought she was a lovely girl, kind and devoted to her mistress. It was unfortunate that they all now had so little in common to stay in touch.

Now it was his turn to peruse the small talk and get to the heart of why they came. He glanced around and cupped his hands over the glass, raising his eyes to meet Dorme's. "Actually, I was wondering if you wouldn't mind talking to me about something a little more specific. I'm trying...there were some things about Senator Amidala's passing that seemed a little off, and I was wanting to look into them further."

Dorme's brown eyes stared at his, almost remorsefully, and she swallowed the lump in her throat. She'd come to the conclusion months back that it was best to put it behind her and press on, not confront the Senator's demise directly. She knew that she'd lost not just a leader but a friend, a part of her family, and talking about her was never easy. Normally it would get someone thrown out of her house, her presence, to bring up such a sensitive topic.

But Gregar was not just anyone. He too, was loyal to the Senator, and Dorme knew that he was seeking his own kind of closure. She would not deny him that, even if it did conflict with her method of coping. She just couldn't promise it would be easy for her.

"Ok," Dorme said softly, glancing back and forth between the two men. "Whatever you need, I'll do what I can to help."

"When she was Queen," he began. "Did you notice anything about her off-duty time?" Dorme looked confused. "Extracurricular activity? A relationship maybe?"

The handmaiden smiled, as though he was the only one who didn't know the answer. "Oh, no, no, she was far too busy saving the planet for any of that. From what I understand, soon after her election, there was the trade incident, the near civil war and treaty with the Gungans...after that she threw herself into whatever she could rebuilding the planet until her tenure was over and she was elected Senator. Never a spare moment between public appearances, volunteer activities, and forming alliances. As you may or may not know, when Padme's term was up, it was suggested they modify the Constitution to allow her to remain Queen. She really was one of the finest they'd ever had. But of course, she wouldn't hear of it, modifying the democracy upon which Naboo was formed went strongly against what she believed in." Dorme shook her head, slightly, her eyes appearing far off. "The irony is, in looking out for the best interests of the planet Padme had to take herself out of the equation eventually. Someone far less scrupulous than she would have just allowed them to extend it."

Nate broke the silence after a moment, turning to Gregar. "It's true...I don't remember her having any relationships, at least not any serious ones. There was a boyfriend, a young man or two, I seem to recall hearing of just as she was finishing her time as Princess of Theed. Obviously, they went their separate ways and she went on to become Queen."

Dorme tilted her head at him curiously, then smiled. "Hmmm, some of her earlier years I never heard about. It doesn't seem strange that she would have gentlemen callers, though knowing her I could never picture it."

Gregar looked at her. "What do you mean?" The way she had phrased the question piqued his interest even more.

Dorme opened her mouth slightly, then shifted, as though unsure how to continue. She sighed before looking back at Gregar. "You know that her security and privacy were my first priority, and even though I'm no longer legally bound to that, I feel the same way."

"I know. Whatever you'd like to tell us would remain in our confidence. I too want what's best for Amidala and her...legacy. I wouldn't dare exploit her, I just want to understand."

Seeming satisfied with the answer after a moment, she nodded. "It was no surprise to those of us who worked closely with her that she was expecting a child near the end, part of what made her situation all the more tragic. What none but perhaps her handmaidens realized was that her situation--while an open secret--was not any more unorthodox than anyone else's."

Gregar leaned forward in his seat. "Meaning?"

"We all have spouses and families, per Nubian tradition, Greg. Padme was an honorable woman, she's no different."

He shook his head. "I guess I don't understand. Having a spouse and a child holds no shame. Many Senators do, sometimes even just to enhance their public image."

"No, you're looking at it from the wrong end. Don't ask yourself why she would have anything to hide, because she wouldn't. Ask why the child's father would have to keep it a secret."

He bit his lip thoughtfully. "There's no...stipulation against marriages, even interspecies. Though it couldn't be interspecies because that would likely not result in a child. The only not allowed to marry are Jedi."

She stared at him wordlessly, her eyebrow raising slightly a second later. It took a moment to hit him.

"Jedi. _Jedi_? She...was involved with one? _Married_?"

Dorme nodded softly. "You have all the pieces. Now just put it together."

"But the only Jedi I saw her associate with regularly were Master Kenobi and Ana...kin Skywalker." his tone slowed. "Skywalker. He was her closest friend, was he not? I saw him at her apartment all the time, when he was not fighting, but I thought nothing of it."

"Yes. Anakin."

"The Chosen One? She married him, and they were expecting?" He blew out a slow breath. "This sheds light on some things. Her death...maybe it was not as the Empire stated. Assaulted by the Jedi--I have a hard time believing that. Especially if she were married to one. The only fools who buy the Imperial rhetoric are those who want to believe it."

"I never thought the Jedi would harm either."

"Perhaps losing her husband in the purge had something to do with her early passing." he remarked sadly.

"Perhaps."

The cups had gone cold, the caff almost gone, and Gregar slowly rose, followed by his uncle. Dorme wanted them to stay but made no motion to stop them, rising as well and slowly walking them to the door.

"Do you think all the Jedi are gone?" he asked, turning to Dorme.

She felt as though she were sharing a deadly secret, something she shouldn't be aware of, but knew she needed to anyway. "I know the Jedi aren't all gone. The ones remaining went underground, regrouped. I don't know who, or how, but they've started a movement. There's no telling if or when anything will come of it. I hope the Force is with them."

"Do you know where on Naboo?"

"I could if I inquired, dug further, but I don't. I've only heard whispers...rumors. I planned to work for Padme for the remainder of my service but now that she's gone, I feel neither the interest nor the passion to continue. I'm just sorry I couldn't help her when I had the chance."

Her shoulders dropped slightly, and Gregar laid a comforting hand on them. Suddenly they were at her door, face to face, while his uncle had made his way outside and was waiting. Her chest rose and fell, and she was close to tears. Her full lips had parted slightly. Gregar wanted to pull her close to him then, and comfort her more than he was.

Instead, only words came out of his mouth. "Nothing was your fault, Dorme. You were the finest handmaiden and friend she could have asked for."

A fond silence hung between them, before Dorme spoke. "Will you be back?"

"I don't know. I will try. I'm not even sure where to go from here, if anyone could help."

"There is her family, the Naberries. The live on the other side of Theed, although I don't know what luck you might have with them."

"I will check into it. Thank you," His voice was soft now, and he held her hands. "I have to go."

She nodded, as though expecting it, as though a part of life were pain and longing, affection and separation. His hands slowly slid out of hers as they parted and he made his way down the path. He offered a last look, a soft glance over his shoulder, at the small woman standing in the doorway and lamented how they were bound together, even in their loneliness.

"Goodbye, Dorme."

"Be safe." she whispered.


	5. Chapter 4

A visit to the Naberrie residence had revealed little in the way of information. It wasn't that they were hard to find--they were still prominent citizens of Naboo--but their grief was too pervasive, too fresh, to yield many results. Gregar wasn't even sure they wanted to talk about it, and as cordial and welcoming as they could be, Gregar felt guilty speaking with them about such a topic. Not for the first time, he questioned whether he was doing anyone any good in his desire to find answers, or just re-opening wounds in the process.

It was Jobal, the matriarch, and Sola, the sister, they'd spoken to briefly. As Gregar and Nate left their residence for once without a solid goal, small details remained at the back of his mind. One was only mentioned in passing when discussing the funeral, and that was the untimely death of Padme's grandmother, Ryoo. It compounded the tragedy that was her daughter's demise when Jobal had to face the death of her mother around the same time.

Ryoo had also handled Padme's funeral arrangements. The only details available pointed to foul play, and he thought it odd an elderly woman with few assets would be randomly targeted.

Gregar and Nate faced each other. Nate spoke first. "Now what?"

He shook his head. "Odd that the grandmother's death was so close to hers, isn't it?"

"Yes. Could be coincidence, or not. We'll never know. Amidala led a controversial life, it could have extended to those around her."

Gregar looked at his uncle, "Do you really think anyone close to her was put in danger, or just those in her employ?"

"I don't know. You'd think the family would be left alone if anyone had a vendetta; they're collateral at best. Personally if I was a terrorist I'd target those she was working with." He allowed a small grin when he glanced at his nephew. "We did our job well enough they could never assassinate her; social isolation would be my tactic."

An absent smile crossed Gregar's face before he and his uncle looked at each other simultaneously.

"Do you think?" Gregar asked softly, as an idea and a new path was born. His uncle nodded.

They left to see Senator Organa.

* * *

Gregar had always a fondness for the planet of Alderaan. Myriad shades of blue, white and green covered it's landscape, a direct reflection of the pacifist citizens themselves. He could have easily considered this his home, had he not emerged from what he considered the finest origin possible, and that was Naboo.

As the ship landed on the clearing dock closest to the Aldera palace, Gregar began to feel nervous. He'd never had a problem dealing with Senator Organa before; he was honest, personable and Padme seemed to trust him exclusively.

However, the Senator's time was far too valuable for him to simply answer questions to sate Gregar's curiousity, and he knew he'd have to find a new approach. If the Senator was even available and they were admitted access.

Gregar was more than a little surprised when he was streamlined through the security process and he and Nate found themselves in the Senator's palace office. Minutes later the Senator emerged from his office and extended his hand, first in Gregar's direction and then Nate's, rewarding them both with a firm handshake.

"Welcome, Nate, Gregar. This is a surprise. It's been some time since we've last spoken."

"Thank you for seeing us on such short notice."

"My pleasure. What brings you here?"

Gregar cleared his throat. "Well, as you know, I have not been employed for some time. Ever since...well, I was curious if the Royal Guard of Alderaa has need of any additional security." He ignored his uncle's scrutinizing glance; it could have surely bore a hole in his side. Even if employment wasn't on his mind, even if he'd not run this by Nate, he wasn't about to walk into a Senator's office and launch an investigation cold.

Organa tilted his head, a hand raised to his chin in thought. After a moment he spoke, "My family is gathering for dinner in a few minutes. Why don't you two join us and we can discuss this further?"

Within the hour the four of them sat at the communal dining table; Nate, Gregar, Bail, and Breha, as servants entered and exited, bringing the entrees. Gregar could not help but be impressed by this politician and soon understood why he was one of Amidala's closest confidants--he was well regarded in the Republic, what remained of it, and made time for people of little consequence, even if they did not further his career.

Gregar sadly lamented if such behavior would be rewarded in the cutthroat structure that was the Empire, and concluded it probably wouldn't. As Bail had stated over dinner, his planet had been one of the few safehavens for citizens to protest the uprising of the Empire, and even that expression of free speech was threatening to come to a close.

"...with the...construction of the new Empirial fighter ships, we have been debating whether or not to build our own defenses. Ultimately, it went against our civilization's creed, so it was decided that arms would not be our focus and we would try to work as diplomatically as possible to abide by the terms of the new Empire and the current citizens." Bail was finishing his sentence, a hint of tension in his voice.

Even though nothing but light conversation and politics had been discussed over dinner, both Gregar and Bail knew that they both despised the changes currently underway and had no choice but to go along with them. Also an open secret was the Delegation of 2000, one of Padme's main initiatives before she died, of which Bail had been a prominent member. Gregar knew this; he had admitted him access to her apartment to discuss the proposal with the other senators.

"So what position are you interested in, Nate, Gregar? I'll be forthright--if credits or housing are needed, a job comparable to one you've had should not be a problem. We can create additional posts if need be."

"I'm...fine. I think I'm going to remain in retirement." Nate said, glancing down. His discharge still weighed heavily on his mind. Bail nodded and turned his attention to Gregar.

"I appreciate the measures you put in place and enforced for Senator Amidala. You would be more than welcome to join the Royal Guard of Aldera." Bail said. It was the first time her name was overtly spoken.

"I'm honored, Senator...I'm still feeling a bit unfocused. I appreciate the time you've made for us today and will take into consideration this generous off--"

A cry, a hearty wail, that was becoming louder, sounded from the other room. Breha rose, excusing herself. Though Bail politely held their interest, he too had turned part of his attention in that direction. Female voices exchanged in the other room and Breha returned, a squalling infant held close against her chest, bouncing softly and murmuring comforting phrases to cease the crying.

Bail rose and went over while Gregar and Nate awkwardly continued eating their meal. As welcome and family oriented as the Senator and his family were, Gregar always felt uncomfortable when he interrupted domestic time, as though he could be doing more to help but wasn't certain what.

The child passed from mother to father and quieted a few moments later in Bail's arms, with only residual kicks and then the sound of finger sucking. His hand cradled the dark head as he walked softly back and forth.

Breha smiled and returned to the table to direct her attention back to the guests. "Sorry about that. That's Leia." She glanced up as Bail continued pacing. "It's her tired cry; sometimes he has better luck than I do." And then Breha grinned. " She's tempermental." she said, but Gregar noticed it was with warm affection rather than frustration. The baby was clearly central to their lives.

Bail quietly walked over, careful not to disturb the infant in his arms, and sat down. He spoke in hushed tones and met their eyes. "You can accept a position with the guard, leave, or we can discuss what you really came for."

Gregar tilted his head down, ashamed at the thought that Bail had seen through his facade, that he had not been forthcoming with the Senator, although he was not sure which caused him more embarrassment. "I...it was more than wanting answers. It was for my own resolution. I haven't felt real, or right, since her passing, and I was hoping to find some closure. I'm sorry for..."

Bail shook his head and waived a hand, silencing him. "Apologies not needed. And I know how you feel; it's common after a loss. You feel in some way responsible, like you failed?"

Gregar nodded, and could see Nate was in agreement. Bail understood them remarkably well.

"Don't." he continued. "It won't bring her back, it won't make the Empire a better place, it will only waste the lives of two men, something I'm sure she _would not_ want."

Bail looked down at the infant in his arms, now asleep, and Gregar was able to see a little of her cherubic face, laid against her father's chest and perfectly content. A new life amongst all the darkness and chaos the galaxy had fallen into. He could almost see Padme now, with a little girl of her own; her child would have been that age.

"Here is what you do." Bail continued, his eyes leaving the infant after a moment. "You find something to focus on, something good, and then you do your best at it. If it's your job, or if it's your family, never forget that, because it will pass you by and in the end will all be for nothing. Don't look back; look forward."

Nate spoke up, "It seems impossible to do any good at this point, and I wish I felt differently. With the state of affairs, the Republic down and in the control now of the Emperor and Vader..."

Bail's demeanor turned darker at the mention of the latter, and he rose, quietly passing Leia to his wife. She politely nodded her goodbyes before departing the room. Bail remained standing, and their dinner time was coming to a close. Nate, along with Gregar, came over, and Bail focused his attention on Gregar, putting a comforting but firm hand on his shoulder. He could be persuasive when he wanted.

"The job offer still stands, if you're interested. Even so, there are more important things now than answers, or even the Senate." A politician's power lay in ambiguity, Gregar felt, because there was underlying meaning to this statement, but he had no idea what Bail meant.

Regardless, he thanked him and they both prepared to leave. Bail had been more than generous.

He saw them out of the palace, to the point where his security detail ended. Bail shook Nate's hand, and then Gregar, holding his handshake firmly a moment longer. "You have my advice; if answers you still desire you might want to visit Tattoine. I bid you good day." Bail said, and the conversation was over.

Nate and Gregar walked to their dock, silently pondering the visit. Gregar wasn't certain what was going on in his uncle's mind, but he wondered why Tattooine was even mentioned--it was a small barren planet in the outer rim, not well regarded, and of little consequence to anyone. Was this a test of some kind? he wondered blithely, suddenly tired at the whole idea of an investigation. Did Bail suggest he go out there to begin soul searching and find meaning in the middle of nothingness, a zen-like state of some kind?

Nate shrugged. "Let's go." Gregar glanced and him wearily and raised an eyebrow.

"Like you have anything better to do." his uncle persisted. Gregar shrugged and entered the ship as they both settled into the cockpit and fastened their crash webbing. Gregar leaned back, against the headrest, and allowed his eyes to close while his uncle set a course for Tattooine.

His last thoughts before they entered hyperspace and he drifted into sleep was the conversations he had with Bail, how cryptic in nature it had been, and he wondered whether more questions had been raised than answered.


	6. Chapter 5

Impact was the first thing he felt when they entered Tatooine's upper atmosphere. As the shuttle assumed it's calculated trajectory, Gregar gripped the handguards on his seat and prayed to the Gods of technology, taking in shallow breaths as his body was held taut against the crash webbing.

He was a tough guy, he _looked_ a tough guy, but this made him feel inadequate. His palms were sweating.

Beside him Nate cracked a joke, and he muttered curses under his breath, wondering how two related men could be so different and why he couldn't have been the one to excel at aerial training and all other height related quandaries.

The craft seamlessly careened closer to the ground, heat shields blessedly reliable before the nose changed angles and then slowly..._slowly_, it made a graceful landing at the Mos Eisley dock.

Nate was already unfastening himself to exit the craft and make space arrangements when Gregar tensely cleared him throat.

"You Ok?" His uncle smiled. He enjoyed his discomfort far too much.

"Fine."

"Shake it off." he said before ducking out of the door.

There weren't many leads to follow besides the enigmatic clues implied by Senator Organa, but with a supply of credits and an even larger wealth of free time, Gregar and his uncle decided that they could keep an open mind in their explorations and see where clues led them.

His uncle's first suggestion was the Cantina. It was met with a cocked eyebrow by Gregar.

"No, I'm not going to relapse. It's the best prospect for information. Although, there could be worse ways to spend time here." He looked around. "Not much of a resort, is it?"

Gregar had to give him credit. The general area of Mos Eisley leading to the Cantina was searing hot, and he didn't want to imagine what the desert canyon that cratered the heat may have felt like today. The fact that the planet was exposed to two large caliber suns assured the obliteration of all life. All intelligent life, anyway.

There were transient personnel between alleyways, Gregar surmised, trying to make a none too honest living as long as it meant survival, and the working patrons had abodes and appearances that would be considered far substandard by Naboo.

Tough place to grow up. Gregar didn't envy Skywalker, and imagined as he inhaled the atmosphere how such a place could permanently etch into the memory of those unfortunate enough to call themselves natives. The smell...was it ammonia? It could have been urine, or carcass, or _humanity_, for all he knew; the whole planet had reeked of it as soon as he's stepped off the craft. Perhaps there were no taxes to care for the population in general and handle waste control. Yes, Gregar thought, that must be it. He'd forgotten for a moment Tatooine was an Outer Rim planet and mostly lawless, not bound by the protection or sanctions of that of the galactic proper.

Just up ahead the Cantina beckoned to them through the activity through rapid ingress and egress. Loud noises could be heard coming from inside with the opening of doors.

As they stepped through two species of male appeared to be having a scuffle near the doorway; Gregar stepped to the side and made his way to the bar. There were three empty seats. Enough for him and Nate to make themselves comfortable. The bartender came over to serve them. He was missing an eye, and peered at them critically through his remaining one.

Blue Tonic, up." Nate offered. Gregar gave him a sharp look. "Just water for me, thanks."

"It's not free." the bartender barked. "If you just came for a complimentary _refreshment_, don't waste my time." He was abrasive and there was a mocking sing-song quality to his last statement.

"Fine," Gregar said slowly, and made a mental note-to-self to toughen his skin while on site. His well cultured ways clearly had no place here. The bartender went to fill their order.

Nate leaned over. "You know, you might want to get a real man's drink. You'll get your ass kicked if--"

"I get it," Gregar snapped, and for a moment their differences seemed more pronounced. He calmed himself. "I don't want alcohol; it doesn't help me think straight." he clarified.

Nate shrugged. "Fair enough."

Their drinks came and were placed in front of them with an audible _thunk_. The sound of a holocast in the corner caught their attention. Something about Lord Vader.

"I heard it's best to stay away from that one," Nate said. "The Emperor's new assistant, Fist, something..." he mumbled. "He's mainly for enforcement, anyhow."

Gregar pursed his lips and took a sip. He didn't even like hearing about some of the new changes to the Republic. He pulled some credits from his pocket; more than enough for the drinks.

"Tip?" Nate asked.

"No, not that,"

"You should."

"Why?"

"He'll spit in our next order if you don't."

The bartender came back around and Gregar waved him over. "Listen, I'm looking for some friends of mine and was wondering if you could help me."

The bartender gave a bark of laughter. "Not from around these parts, son? Look, _you_, if you're not going to buy a drink or eat, move on."

Gregar moved his hand, exposing the credits. "It's worth your while."

That caught the bartender's interest. His demeanor changed and he took a deep breath. "Come to think of it, I do know quite a few people from here. Anyone specific?" He reached for the credits and Gregar covered them with his hand, a warning glean coming into his eyes.

"Let's start with the name Skywalker."

"Skywalk--? Hmmm..." he scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Yeah, yeah, that does sound a' familiar. Wasn't there a sporting event or something..."

The patron next to them chimed in, "The Boonta Eve classic, _idiot_. Unbroken record for a human."

"Shut up," he snapped. "Or you can leave."

"Hey," Gregar said in his most soothing voice. He flicked a credit to the bartender, then in the direction of the patron. "There's enough for everyone. I'm sure we all have something to bring to the table."

This pacified them for the time being. The patron spoke next, "Well, when he was twelve...no wait, ten...yeah, ten I think it was, he won the Boonta Eve against a couple other contenders. No one expected him to win, I mean he was an inexperienced kid, and a human, for crying out loud. Never happened before. Such odds..._stang_, if only I'd placed a bet."

"Ok," Gregar added. "That's fine, but not exactly what I'm looking for. Do you know any more about that family?"

"Oh, he left," the patron said dismissively. "Went to the Jedi, I heard."

The bartender rolled his eyes. "Well that was certainly worth a credit. What do you want to know, buddy? His ma' and pa' used to live here, now there's just the brother and his wife..."

"Where?" Gregar's interested increased.

The bartender inhaled dramatically and seemed to be searching his thoughts. "That's a little bit foggy."

Gregar flicked another credit his direction. "Jogging your memory."

"Ah yeah. Well, let's see, uh, there's a brother, step-brother, or something living at the same site..."

"Site?"

"Ya, out beyond Anchorhead, near the Jundland Wastes...Homestead's been there at least a generation. Him, his wife, and the Skywalker kid, ah think..."

"Wait, _Skywalker kid_?"

"Oh yeah. From what I heard he was named after Lars' mother or something. Paid homage to the lineage ya' know."

"What's her name?"

This time the bartender appeared to be genuinely confused. He even forgot to ask for the stipend. "Uh, seems like a simple name but I never could remember. Only heard in passing...Sharryi, no wait, Simi...I dunno, there's so many people who come through, I could never remember. Not even the Lars visit here, I just know the local gossip through my contacts. She died a long time ago, anyway, when I first started here." Gregar could guess that gossip and people's problems, among other small things, were his life.

"Ok, well, thanks for your help." His water was half empty; Gregar left it and started to get up. His shirt had long since stuck to his skin and he wanted to find a place to rest, and wash the sweat and filth from his person. Maybe if he obtained decent lodging he could even find a filtered water source without visible particles in it. In the meantime he could let the bartender think he'd thoroughly enjoyed his visit.

"Anytime. Come back again, 'k?" His eyes had a solicitous spark, and Gregar passed another credit his way. Without acknowledgement, the bartender took it and slipped it into his apron, holding an air of entitlement.

Nate was starting to get up, but he'd been quiet throughout the conversation. Gregar attributed it to the liquor. "I don't know if we'll be back again but thanks for the info." He started to turn away.

"Your friend over there might want to see you sometime."

Gregar's brow knitted. "Friend?"

"Ya, " the bartender cleaned a glass, amused. "Been checkin' ya out for at least the last fifteen minutes." He chuckled and jerked his chin in their general direction. "Owe someone money?"

Gregar shook his head, confused. He didn't know anyone here. He turned around and saw a cloaked figure weave elegantly through the noise and confusion out the exit. If he hadn't been looking for it, he may have thought it was imagined.

Perhaps that had been the greatest information of all.

* * *

Gregar left the bar expeditiously, either sidestepping patrons he didn't want to interrupt or squeezing his way between them, his touch come and gone before they realized he'd been there. In any event, he was grateful to escape the noise level. It would continue to buzz in his ears minutes after he'd left.

The desert was far from dark, but the two suns were setting; one a deep orange and the other above it a few shades lighter.

He had somewhere to be. Gregar didn't know where, but the cloaked figure was of primary interest to him and he scanned the diminishing crowds. He thought he saw a brown figure in the distant and walked rapidly, his interest in retaining his uncle long since passed. An investigative fervor claimed him.

He heard the panting beside him several seconds later regardless and saw Nate. His stamina level was apparently higher than that of his uncle tonight, due at least in part to alcohol.

"Well then, " Nate started. "I thought when you said you wanted to investigate Tatooine we would at least get a night's rest first."

"You go ahead," Gregar interjected, and realized his voiced sounded short. "I know I'm charging ahead, but I don't blame you if you want to find lodging to rest. Go, Nate. You can just comm me and let me know where. I can't wait for clues to find me tomorrow, because they might not be there..." he was again scanning the crowds.

"The cloaked figure?"

"Yeah..." Gregar said absently, his stride brisk. The foot traffic was waning the further they went, and Gregar looked around him in bewilderment. "Getting isolated...isn't this the general direction of the Lars' homestead?" He was talking more to himself, and wondered why his uncle was keeping up with him at all rather than fulfilling his previously expressed sentiment to get some sleep. He continued to plod along beside him.

"Hmmm..." Nate mumbled.

The cloaked figure was gone, and Gregar was frustrated. He wiped his brow with the back of his sleeve and scanned the area, the buzz of activity now a murmur far behind them. To their north and west was an endless expanse of desert, with probably small settlements like the one he'd be looking for intermittently ahead. The only variation was the gathering of boulders to the east, increasing with each step in elevation and probably leading into isolated nothingness.

Gregar felt like going there anyway. He started up the path and used his hands to grip against small rocks when moderate climbing was necessary. He could hear Nate's labored breathing behind him.

"What in Chaos are you doing? Looking for a vantage point?"

Gregar ignored him and pressed on, following a whim. They were now in a small valley between rocks; there appeared to be some outcroppings to their left and right that one time may have been used as camping areas. Various old mechanical parts and tools littered the area.

He heard his uncle's voice again, "There are better places to go hiking. You know, if we run into...the residents out here or Force forbid, the Krayt dragons, we're kriffing _screwed_."

"Yep." He didn't care. Gregar looked up over the outcropping of the tallest gathering of rocks. What was over there?

"Krayt aren't what you have to worry about," It was a foreign voice from a corner of rocks.

Without thinking, Gregar upholstered his blaster and fired in that direction. His uncle joined in seconds later. His target was clear, his aim accurate, but the shots were deflected into the sky by the glowing blue blade and signature _vrrrm_ Gregar knew to be that of a lightsaber. The parrying fireworks continued for moments more, longer from Nate's blaster than from Gregar's. He cursed the moment he allowed his uncle to indulge.

"Nate, _stop_!" he exclaimed, and put his hand on top of the barrel to emphasize his point. His uncle ceased firing, but still held his weapon at the ready, looking at their mysterious hooded companion.

What was with him? Gregar wondered. Inebriated or not, he should know that an experienced lightsaber would always exceed the capabilities of a blaster. His uncle should be concerned with the _identity_ of the holder, not defeating him, he thought. Nate was acting like someone without training, he thought, or out of desperation. And the latter made no sense.

"Who?" Gregar asked quietly, and held his breath as the figure stepped into view. Weathered hands reached up to remove the cloak from his head, and Gregar wondered if for only a moment, his heart had stopped.

How many times had he wondered how many Jedi had survived, and who, and how they were doing? Now he was looking at the memory--or his projection of it--in the present, and with disbelieving eyes.

"General Kenobi..." he breathed in wonderment, and moved toward him slightly. "You survived."

He looked older. It had been only a few years, but the Jedi appeared to have aged ten. Prominent grey streaks lined his hair and beard, and his skin looked tougher and wrinkled. His dark eyes held the wisdom of more time than had passed.

Despite that, he offered Gregar a small smile. "Typho. I am happy to see you well." Kenobi didn't appear surprised to see him, and it occurred to Gregar that he hadn't even acknowledged his uncle. Gregar himself had only succeeded to get him to lower his weapon, but he'd made no move since.

Obi-Wan spoke, "I know why you came, and I want to talk to you too. But we're not safe."

"Even here?" Gregar asked. He knew the planet had eyes and ears everywhere...but in the middle of nowhere? It was unlike any security operation he'd ever seen.

Obi-Wan's eyes shifted to Nate, and he spoke enigmatically. "If you have something to say, you should speak now."

Nate swallowed. "I don't know what you're talking about." Gregar could sense for the first time something amiss, and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

"What does he mean, Nate?"

His uncle shook his head quickly, like a perpetrator, Gregar thought with a start, and excuses seemed to pour from him. "It's a Jedi trick, I don't know what he's saying..." he looked at Gregar pleadingly.

"Before you follow your nephew into an investigation, let him know where your loyalties lie."

"It's not like that," Nate said, his voice growing stronger. "It wasn't about you, Greg, and it wasn't about _her_. It was the only choice I had at the time. The Republic was changing. Things weren't the way they used to be, the way they should be, and only certain people knew how to bring the peace and balance everyone so desperately said they wanted. It doesn't have to be that complicated."

Gregar felt hot and cold all over, lightheaded, and thought for the first time that there was a thing such as too much information. Regret settled like a hard knot in his stomach.

When he spoke again, his voice didn't sound like his own, "What is he saying, Nate? Did you help the Empire?" His voice dropped to a low, gritty volume. "Did you do something to hurt Amidala?"

"It didn't hurt her, " Nate snapped. "It was of no consequence at all, or shouldn't have been. I informed the Chancellor of her and Skywalker's marriage. She placed herself in danger with that commitment to begin with."

Gregar faced him fully. "But you helped. You trained her, helped raise her, and you assisted Palpatine--that _thing_--and betrayed all of our confidence--"

"Stop already. _Stop_. Did you ever look around you, Greg, at the Republic before the Empire took over? The Jedi, who could throw an endless array of men toward a cause so long as it benefited them--" he threw a derisive glance Obi-Wan's way, "--and the Separatists, who wanted to remove themselves from the mess it was becoming, led by a former Jedi themselves. No good or order could come from any of it. Amidala's principals--while admirable--were outdated and naive. There was no other option for order, for peace as you know it, than to bring a solid structure into play. Don't think you're the only good of the two of us. Fewer people _die_ now than they did with the Old Republic. You can look on me with judgment but know--good is a point of view."

"A point of view you've lost," Gregar whispered. "You were an enabler." His legs carried him toward his uncle and his arms, unbidden, came up to attack. "You _kriffing bastard_--"

He lunged at Nate just as he felt the hands of Kenobi on his shoulders, holding him back. It was effective, or augmented by the Force, because Gregar hadn't known another man to hold back one of his stature with such ease. A moment later, one of Kenobi's hands came up in a wave, and Nate fell to the ground.

"Let him sleep now," Obi-Wan said, "And we can talk." He turned to Gregar. "I am sorry you had to hear that, but he was not to be trusted, and you came looking for answers. Whether you want any more now or not is up to you."

It could have been the emotional toll of the day, or the last month, that brought Gregar to his knees. He slumped down, and soon, Kenobi sat across from him gingerly, peering at him with concern. He would give him all the time he needed to process the information. Kenobi had a lot of time.

Finally Gregar spoke, "Why? Why did he do it?" His tormented eyes met Kenobi's, and he realized for the first time what a kind man he was.

"He wasn't always bad, if that's what you're asking. He probably did care about the Senator when he started her training, yes, and time and stress took a different toll on him than it did others. The Chancellor was subtle and effective, dangerously so. The Jedi only saw it themselves when it was too late. I'm sure in Nate's mind his integrity was bought for his own survival and not to harm anyone." Obi-Wan paused. "Why were you here, Gregar? Why did you not just retire on Naboo and stay as far away as possible from the New Empire?"

"I needed more," he whispered. "Something was missing, something wasn't right or didn't make sense. It wasn't Amidala's time, and I'm to blame for that."

Kenobi shook his head, "No, you were not. Even if events had played out exactly as you believe they had, you were not to blame."

He looked away into the twin setting suns, and Gregar could sense he had something important to say. "You already know about the marriage, and the vague circumstances of her death, but no simple mission could kill the Senator. She's been through far worse before. There was only one person who could get close enough and betray her at that one vulnerable moment that would end everything. It took extenuating circumstances--a perfect storm--for her to give up the will to live. I don't know sometimes why the Force works that way." He sounded far off, remorseful.

"Are you talking about her husband? Knight Skywalker died, did he not, with General Order 66?" Somehow Gregar expected Kenobi to disagree with him. Instead he simply nodded.

"Yes. Yes he did. And I'll always blame myself for that. You see, Gregar, I too know how deep a betrayal can run."

Confusion fogged Gregar's mind. Or was he just not thinking clearly after everything? What did betrayal have to do with the death of a friend?

Obi-Wan spoke from a distant past. "His mother died, not far from here. I didn't let him respond to his worst fears because I didn't think it benefited the galaxy as a whole. I didn't talk to him about it after it happened. I can only imagine how important his marriage may have been to him if that was his only source of emotional support. I can now admit he was treated as an outsider by the Jedi Council, and I didn't go to bat for him like I should have. Padme was like his mother in a way, you see, she made an excellent warrior and diplomat but she knew one of the most important things I'd forgotten as a Jedi, and that's that he was still human." Obi-Wan paused and looked into the distance. "I fell in love too myself once, and I wasn't supposed to. It was not the Jedi way. Anakin was raised here for _ten years_ before he left to be trained as a Jedi, none of which was his fault. How could I expect more from him than I could myself?"

Obi-Wan looked back at Gregar. He smiled slightly, but Gregar didn't think he'd ever seen eyes as sad. "In that way, the Jedi were outdated. Not bad, but not open to change. I can only fault myself for his fall."

_Fall_...Gregar lamented on this for a moment.

Obi-Wan continued. "Your uncle, Nate--he will probably end up a Moff with the Empire if he isn't already. That is the existence he's carved for himself out of pure necessity. Anakin's is one carved out of hatred, pain. He's the Sith now known as Lord Vader."

His last statement fell on Gregar's ears like thunder. He stared numbly at the ground. _There was nothing left. Nothing..._

As if hearing his thoughts, Obi-Wan put hands on his shoulders reassuringly. "No, not nothing. Don't take the path of your uncle. You're stronger than that, and you can only do Amidala justice to live. You don't have to hide like me. You have everything to live for."

And in that instant thoughts were exchanged between them. Gregar's family on Naboo, the small joys still remaining in life, Dorme...then Obi-Wan's thoughts--Amidala's last moments, the babies..._babies_...Leia Organa, Luke Skywalker...two exceptional people at the furthest ends of the galaxy, the last hope.

And it all made sense in a strange way. That's why Obi-Wan was here, of all places, Gregar realized, to watch over Skywalker's son, and for his own benefit, to draw comfort from that remaining hope. Gregar and Nate had been lured away by Kenobi before they'd gotten too close.

Gregar and Obi-Wan just looked at each other after the exchange. "I know too much," Gregar said, breaking the silence. He knew what that meant. Gregar was willing to be destroyed. He was ready to go if he had to.

Kenobi gently put his hands on Gregar's temples. "You'll live. And you'll be fine." That much he sounded sure of. "When you wake up, you'll be at home, and safe. And you'll have the answers, even if you don't remember them. It takes someone of great faith, Gregar, to believe that the light will ever return, but I believe in the Force. The Empire is going to fall someday, and they're going to lose huge."

Nate, too, he realized, would wake up in a different time and a different place, and probably work for the Empire. And they wouldn't be close anymore, though neither would remember why.

Gregar met Kenobi's eyes. "Best of luck to you, General."

Kenobi's eyes warmed for the first time, and he nodded. "Godspeed, Typho."

The last thing he remembered was the sky--it was getting dark now--and the desert had a stark beauty to it, before a gentle descent into darkness.


	7. Epilogue

**Epilogue:**

The first sounds Gregar heard were birds, and the far off rush of a waterfall. Temperate weather caressed his skin, and he'd have no inclination to move if it wasn't for her voice.

She murmured his name, and her small hands cradled his head, feeling for illness. Words and vision both became clearer. A female form hovered above him, and long dark hair fell below her shoulders. The sunlight behind her framed the dark silhouette of her face.

Dorme.

She looked angelic, and Gregar wanted to tell her that. He wanted to look at her, to talk to her, to _know_ her, and didn't know why he hadn't before. He'd been focused, rushed. But now he had time.

"Take a deep breath," she said.

And he felt alive.


End file.
